I had email this morning from a lovely lady I feel is fast becoming a friend. She has lived through her own horror story, and that tale is hers alone to tell, so I shall not share it here. She does, however, have my deepest respect.
She wrote, “My experience was how many people turn away, or even get angry with me for my suffering, including close loved ones.”
This, I find, is a common theme. Many of the friends who were there at the start have faded away. Some, it is true, simply because Nick had to move home and away from them, some through their own life changes. Some, though, simply couldn’t handle it.
Nick is no longer physically able to join in with the things they used to do. He is not the same Nick as he was. In many ways he has grown, and is a deeper, warmer, more loving person. A man who has something precious and of value to share. But if your eyes skim the surface and turn away in fear and uncertainty, you will never see deeper than the physical shell. If all you see is a wheelchair, you are going to miss the smile in his eyes.
The effect spreads wider and also touches those who surround him. Many people I thought of as friends have simply faded away, unable to handle the grief, the situation or the changing priorities of my own life as my son’s needs were more urgent than many others. I do not judge them. Who knows how I would have reacted if it were them? Who can ever know until it happens? We like to think we do, but actually, until it happens, we do not.
But, for myself, I can truly say I have been blessed. The few true friends stayed and have become closer than family. New friends have come into my life who actually care… about my sons, about me, about being there. Friends who will pick up on a written word or phrase, and, reading the mood will pick up the phone. Friends I can talk to, laugh with, cry with as the need arises.
So, from tragedy comes beauty. I am a lucky woman.